The Maggot Among Flies
by KPOBb 3A KPOBb
Summary: Through the dictation of a convict, and through the psyche of a shadow soldier, we encounter that of the imprisoned. This is his confession.
1. Those Perfectly Flawed

MY CONFESSION

_Because I'm diluted,_

_perfectly flawed._

_I shall live by passion_

_and not by law._

I lived by passion all my life and look where it got me. Stuck in some five by five cell with a bucket to piss in. Yes, a life short lived by passion will get you a one way ticket to the biggest max prison. Of course, no one is perfect and unflawed, especially not me. So now it's a life lived and survived by the fittest and the strongest. A life lived by one law only. _Stay in the light_. And in these cramped quarters everyone patience where's thin and mistakes happen, in a life filled with passion.

_And I'm insecure..._

_I need aggression._

_To feed the spiders_

_of perception._

Everyone in the prison is insecure, fragile, thinking they need to establish dominance, authority, and power. Which obviously is true, but they also have to do their time and pay their bit. Nursing the ones that made them a god. Feeding the rest to keep the silence. And keep the secrets of their weakness and their flaws. Feeding the ones who see all and know all. Luckily for me I don't have that problem. No one sees me. I have no one to feed.

_And I'm supposed to_

_be strong_

_and have all the answers._

_A cannibal in the_

_church of cancer._

When keeping face just isn't enough then inmates start to get physical and down right ugly. I for one, know from experience. It just wasn't enough to keep up this facade. Someone had to go and fuck with my mask. Questioning my strengths like I have all the answers. Testing my skill so they payed the price with their life. I hate this facade because I've forgotten what's fantasy and what's reality. There are others who have the same mask that isn't real. And everyone gets delusional and think their in the right and soon they turn on their own kind. Destroying their own doctrine and everyone else within. Creating a great schism in their own church of the diseased.

_But I'm nothing special,_

_I'm not unique._

_I have many secrets_

_and I eat the weak._

We're nothing great, and we're not gods among men. We're all the same willing to die for a blinded cause. At some point we all believe that we fight the good fight. Not me, I know I have no purpose and I'm nothing sort of average. My life has no significance to the righteous or the sententious. Because this heart of mine died along time ago, along with my conscience. Along with my Carolyn. Its my doing that she's gone. She was strong, just not strong enough. She was the weaker element and I had let her down. I had betrayed her faith that night when I was going to leave them there to die. I didn't want her to know my many secrets. It was that I actually cared. But I had to be strong I couldn't afford that feeling or the liability. In the end the weak suffer for the strong.


	2. A Grave for the Surrogate Child

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from or related to Pitch Black or TCOR. I do not own the lyrics to 'BURIED ALIVE', those of which belong to Otep Shamaya.

_I speak in verses, prophecies, and curses. _

_No miracle is coming, _

_it's just a hole. _

_Nothing's wrong with you; _

_just maintain control_

I speak with the fire of hell on the tip of my tongue, and I think with the cynicism of forgotten martyrs. There is no safe; no home base. There is no stop; no release. I live in a cell half of the time and the rest of the time I reside in a pit. As slowly, painfully dig myself deeper into my own bleeding, receding grave. Having nothing but the grave and the cell as my company. Having no one to talk to, and I stay in the dark so that I can't see my scars. I feel like I'm gonna break, and sometimes I get nauseous, but I can't break the mask. I get so delusional, and I hope for something more, but fuck it. I'm number one on my list of priorities; I am one of one. I'm must grasp and clutch what filth and dirt I have left, to pull myself out of this grave.

_Everyone's asking questions; _

_no place is safe. _

_I'll forfeit resurrection, _

_to escape this pain_

I'm tired of all the questions, and stupid thoughts. I can't escape from the people that try to sum up my life; creating examples of what not to do and what not to look forward to. Looking at inkblots and bloodstains, they tell me to search for the truth. So I slit there throats, just to see, and prove that a convict might not bleed the same filth as they do. I have no escape, its just a constant freak show. I'd release myself, if the law would let me. I would gladly sit upon that iron thrown that waits for me, but I can't; as I said I have to wait for it; earn it. I lost all hope of revenge, because I don't wish for a return. I'd sooner burning in a the devil's hell, then to rot it out in this cell. I'd sooner give my life in order to keep my death.

_I __hate my life...I HATE MY LIFE..._

_I speak in verses, prophecies and curses. _

_This storm of thorns is growing; _

_there's no end in sight. _

_Chaos claws my jaw, _

_and incites a mental riot_

Will this redundant, circling, rotting life end? Why is it kill or be killed? Why can't I just sever until I bleed no more. This chaos, this hate, is growing and I've found no release yet. Will the sun set? Does the time stall? Is there such a thing as friend. And all the questions ravage my mental health, and the violence consumes. The inmates choke my neck, and I claw at it and search for an egress. But none is found, and it picks away still.

_I'm in the mouth of madness, _

_with a tongue of poetry. _

_I ate the spine of Atlas, _

_now the world is crushing me_.

This prison, this cell, is equivalent to be in the mouth of the devil. I speak with flare, and so does the rest. For those who talk not, know much; and those that talk much no not. I lie, I cheat, and kill, and yet I'm a martyr to a girl and a long lost crew. And here lies the hero, sitting, and gnawing at the bars of the cell. I got here by my own doing, and I got to the top on other peoples backs. I've broke them, and then devoured them along the way. I did this because I couldn't get there myself, so I took it. I thought what's done is done, but somehow corpses always come back, to make amends.

_Buried alive behind enemy lines. _

_Surrogate child for the sins of all mankind. _

_Buried alive behind enemy lines, buried alive, buried alive. _

_For the sins of all mankind._

I am bathed in sin, blood, and dirt, but they still want to put nails in my wrists. They want me dead but then again they want to redeem me. This is how they repay a murderous hero; I don't know what's worse. I'm a surrogate child, a poster child, and a spokesman. I don't want this burden, and I don't want the sins. I want to leave this world, but I still stay in. Prison is a purgatory, and purgatory is being buried alive.

_I hate my life...I HATE MY LIFE..._


End file.
